Page 44 of You Deserve Good Things

“For forever?”

He kissed my temple.

“Since I was twelve, baby. Since that day you stole my juice and my heart.”

And I laughed. Because even in the chaos, in the mayhem, in the wild whirlwind of wedding madness, I had peace.

Because I had him. And tomorrow, I’d be his wife. Forever and ever.

The air was thick,thick like sorrow, slow cooking in the atmosphere, thick like grief dressed in humidity, weighing down on my chest like a wet wool blanket in a thunderstorm. It pressed against my skin, wrapping around my lungs, making it hard to breathe, making the night feel like it carried the burden of every tear I hadn’t yet cried.

The street stretched out before me like a memory I couldn’t unlive, cracked and uneven, just like the childhood we tried to survive. The dim light from the old street lamp flickered overhead, casting gold shadows that danced and twitched like ghosts that were too tired to rest. The sky up above was that deep, inky kind of black—the kind that felt endless, like it could swallow you whole if you stood still too long.

And I knew this place. I remembered every chipped curb, every creaky porch swing. Every boarded-up window was burned into my bones like a second skin. I had lived majority of my childhood here. I had lost everything here.

I was back in my home of New Orleans. Yet, this wasn’t a regular dream. This was something holy. Something heavy. Something realer than real.

And I wasn’t alone.

Silas stood just a few feet away, leaning against the corner store like he never left. He had on that same, signature black hoodie. Same gold chain glinting against his chest, and that same cocky-ass smirk like he had the answers to questions I hadn’t even thought to ask.

I froze, breath stuck somewhere between disbelief and desperation.

“Si . . .” My voice cracked like dry branches underfoot, fragile and aching, my soul straining to reach him.

He pushed off the wall, walking toward me with that slow, easy strut that had always made him look like he ran the world—even when the world was tryna break him. His hands were in his pockets, but his eyes—they held galaxies. Deep, dark, and endless.

“You look good, lil’ bit,” he said, voice deep and rich, dipped in love and memory and something else—something softer.

Tears welled, burning behind my eyes like smoke. “I-I miss you, Si. So much, I don’t even know how I still breathe.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his head. “I know, baby girl. But I ain’t come for that.”

I blinked, heart thudding in my ears. “Then . . . why?”

He stepped up close, eyes searching mine. And the love there? It split me open. It made the ache in my chest throb in rhythm with the past.

“Because you still ain’t forgave yourself,” he said gently. “And it’s time.”

A sob clawed its way up my throat. “Silas, I?—”

“Stop.” His tone was soft, but there was steel under it. The kind that made you pause. The kind that made you listen.

“This wasn’t on you, Shaniya. It never was. Never gon’ be.”

“But I was there,” I whispered, tears streaming. “I shoulda stopped you. I shoulda screamed louder. I shoulda?—”

“Nah,” he said firmly. “You were a child, Yaya. A baby girl caught in a grown-ass fire. I brought you into that. I did that. Not you. That shit was on me.”

My knees buckled, and I dropped to the curb like my body couldn’t hold the weight of my regret anymore. Silas crouched next to me, placing a hand on my back.

“You were my peace,” he whispered. “My anchor. My reason to keep my head on straight when all I wanted to do was spin out. You saved me more times than you know, baby sis.”

I wept, loud and ugly, like my soul was finally letting go.

He pulled me into him, resting his chin on top of my head like he used to when we watched cartoons on Saturday mornings.

“You deserve good things, baby girl,” he murmured. “Please stop tryna punish yourself like you don’t.”

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